Hades' Gates
by Syberian Quest
Summary: I am blind. I am deaf. And I am chained behind Hades' gates over and over again.


I am blind.

A prism of colours permeates my senses, but I am enshrouded in darkness. My eyes bear witness to the resplendent sunset, to the kaleidoscope of pinks and yellows, but I see nothing.

_I see it all._

Among the treetops, concealed by the cover of dusk, the birds descant harmonious melodies, bidding their last farewells to the dissolving hours of daylight.

I can't hear a thing.

A soft summer's breeze tingles against my arid flesh as the aroma of a thousand wildflowers overpowers my senses. Beside it a small stream trickles downward, its cool, crystal glacier water a blessed relief on my sandpaper tongue.

I feel nothing.

_I feel everything._

On heaven's gate, with every sense subdued and subjected, I am in hell. Every part of me is overwhelmed by the beauty, the _splendor_ that most only dream of encountering, but I cannot enjoy any of it. For as much as my senses are willing – _longing _– to savor such a display, there is one part of me that is uncooperative.

_My mind is on fire._

Like a thousand burning coals, it sears every inch of my helpless body, overwriting every neuron and erasing everything but the sensation of raw, insuppressible pain. I can see, I can hear, I can _feel_, but it means nothing. Everything other than the blazing fury of my cerebral cortex is nonexistent.

I am its prisoner.

It controls me, and I cannot ignore it. A slave to merely three cups of water and a handful of microscopic chemicals. But even with such a small force, it attacks me. It attacks me with everything it has.

It leaves no mercy.

As cruel as Hades, it has dragged me into a barren world of darkness and despair, leaving me as much a prisoner as Persephone. I never wanted this, I never asked for it, but no matter how much I beg, no matter how I plead, it will not let me go. I am ensnared in its deadly grasp, and it refuses to release me.

Oh, but it does. _How it does_.

Just as the pain becomes so unbearable, just as I believe nothing is worth this agony, it vanishes as quickly as it comes, leaving nothing but a vapour trace. Chains are suddenly released, and the gates of Hades are suddenly thrust wide open.

I am free.

Suddenly the world is brighter, bigger, overwhelming with the freshness of spring and the scent of a world so full of life. And then, only then, do I feel truly alive. My captor has released me, and like Demeter celebrating her daughter's return, I can truly rejoice over what it means to be free.

But I am still a prisoner.

Every moment, every hour spent in my blissful little paradise with the ones I love so dearly is timed. An hourglass sits in my prisoner's dungeon, sand silently slipping away, quietly counting down the hours until my return.

Because the agony never ends.

And when that last grain of sand slips onto the pile, my euphoria ceases to exist. The ground opens up, and my master reclaims me.

I am dragged once again past Hades' gates.

Every day this cycle continues. Every day I am pulled helplessly from one reality to the next. And despite what some might say, this is crueler. _So much crueler_. It is not enough to leave me stranded helplessly with no hope of escape. I _have _a hope. And every day it is quenched. My dream of freedom is shattered. _Over and over_.

Over and over I am battered and broken. Over and over my world collapses, and I am dragged back beyond those wretched gates. Over and over I am forced to watch not only myself, but others suffer because of my helplessness. And if it wasn't for that small beacon of light at the very end of the tunnel, the one that whispers in my ear every day that there _is _hope, that there _is_ more than Hades' gates, that they _will _find a cure, I know I could not continue on this way forever.

Because few things are harder than existing beyond Hades' gates.

(Not even death.)

* * *

><p><em>AN: I rarely write with the Starling brothers. We really don't know much about their inner workings, considering the fact neither have ever had anything written in their POV canon wise. But here, I found at least one thing I could truly relate to Ned with. Many people have written about their "ailments," since it's really the only thing we can pity them about, but I feel as though most people don't understand the seriousness of their problems. Few understand that kind of pain or what it means to be stuck with a debilitating, life-changing problem that affects _every _aspect of their life. I can't say I have anything to that extreme, but I know what a wicked migraine can do. Believe me, sometimes getting hit by a train would come as a welcome relief. And having it come back _over and over_ again - that would be worse than death._

_And of course, the beginning scene was merely Ned in a beautiful place, not being able to enjoy any of it. I envision an alpine meadow, but feel free to interpret it as you see fit._

_[I also feel compelled to mention for all those who might be put off that I used the word "hell," I would like to say that I meant it in a state of being context, not a swearing one]_


End file.
